


The Heart's Dark Night

by eveshka



Series: Tales of the Dawn King [16]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Spoilers, endgame spoilers, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: An anniversary.





	The Heart's Dark Night

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: T  
> Warnings: None  
> Characters: Ignis Scientia, Stasios Teleon (OC)  
> Time Period: Year 5  
> Location: Lestallum

Subconsciously, Ignis Scientia counted. Hours. ( _He had to make sure everything happened on time._ ) Days. ( _It was the only way to stay sane._ ) Steps. ( _It was the only way he knew where he was sometimes._ ) Years. ( _Five_.) Heartbeats. ( _Always_.)

Counting was as natural to him as breathing, though he'd been told many years ago ( _16_ ) it was a sign of obsessive-compulsive disorder. He'd argued patiently back then, clear green eyes fixated on the psychologist who was there to assess his ability to stand by the Crown Prince. If counting ensured that his world was orderly, how then was that a _dis_ order? Further, everyone counted. To Six, to be precise, though if one wished to be _patently_ precise, it was Five given that the Infernian had been killed, so wouldn't Pentatheon suit better?

(The next year, he would encounter the same psychologist and solemnly inform her that it should be a Quadratheon, given that the Empire had killed Shiva. The psychologist had promptly packed her bags, left Insomnia, and Ignis never saw her again.)

And so he'd counted up through the endless darkness, right up to the closest approximation he'd been able to calculate. The trek through Zegnautus, back through Gralea, then pushing through to Cartanica… a month? Maybe a bit more. He'd decided that it had probably been mid-October when Noctis had vanished into the Crystal. If one could believe Ardyn, and honestly, Ignis didn't. He believed in Noctis, and the magic he could still use.

 

But here, five years since he'd last heard his prince… and after last night, Ignis just needed his own space. He hadn’t wanted to go out to the glass raising, but Licinia and the others were insistent. They were Kingsglaive, and the Kingsglaive never forgot their King… even if he was currently indisposed.

So Ignis had gone, and nursed a drink until Jon had made some offhanded comment about Noctis that had pierced his heart and left a memory flashing across his mind. He’d downed the drink in one solid go then, stood, and excused himself. When Stasios had tried to follow, Ignis had held up his hand and told his often companion that he needed some time with his thoughts.

Now, standing in the depths of New Lestallum, Ignis wasn’t entirely certain stalking off had been a terribly wise idea. They were building as fast as they could here, hiring hunters to delve into the tunnels and clear out the daemons before laying in the lines for lights. Then again, he was accustomed to darkness and what better way to lose himself than in battle for the greater good?

It wasn’t hard to find someone in charge, and it was entirely too easy to offer services in exchange for food and shelter. They even offered him some uniforms when they realized they were talking to the Ghost. Ignis accepted, and once established in his small room, he took himself into the tunnels.

 

Imps. Imps everywhere. They stole precious potions and dropped them when they died. He tracked them by sound and by stillsight, allowing one to filch something, then following it until he decided to kill it. It never failed; where they fell, the items fell as well. So, mystery solved. Their surprise benefits were someone's losses, perhaps their own. Granted, he wasn't half as good as Gladio at finding items (they didn't always have enough magic to glitter in the stillsight) but he managed to come out slightly ahead.

He fought until he was tired, always making sure to retreat well before exhaustion, told the workers where he'd been, and then retreated to his room to rest. When he woke, he ate, and headed in again. Each creature killed was analyzed in his mind, tidbits of data added to an already massive mental compendium. And each kill was given to Noctis, a grim reminder that he would fight the darkness to keep the King’s people safe and keep enough of a light for Noctis’ return.

As Ignis fought, something remarkable and extremely dangerous happened: he stopped counting.

Bereft of sight and companionship, time ceased to have meaning to Ignis, and as such, there was no need to count. He ghosted through the tunnels literally and figuratively, retreating only when he was tired, or hungry.

After a while, hunger happened less than it should have, and sleep happened less than it needed. He slipped into a cycle, pushed himself harder, slipping through shadows, all with one thought in his head: this was the one. Kill this daemon and Noctis would come back. Kill _that_ , and Noctis would come back. Kill _those_ , and Noctis _would come back._

Rest, eat, repeat. Ignis Scientia set himself aside and let the Ghost of Lestallum bring light back into the world, one daemon’s death at a time.

And then, one day, there were strange sounds. Voices, calling a name that the Ghost knew. Strange, that name meant something. Crownsguard. Scientia. Warmth, a hand, gentle and firm. A voice with an accent so familiar that it broke his self-imposed world and sensations flooded back. Hunger, exhaustion, desperation, loneliness. Sightless eyes tried to focus- when had he lost his sight? Why was his shirt so loose? What was he wearing? Ignis Scientia shuddered, and knew nothing else.

 

It took two months of seclusion in the care of a doctor to bring the man back from the ghost. Two months after vain attempts for friends and loved ones to reach him, only to be stared at sightlessly. And as he came back from his internal night his screams kept everyone on the block awake, but there was no anger. After all, he'd cleared the entirety of New Lestallum alone.

_What he must have gone through._

_Poor thing deserves a break, let's not complain._

_He screams with the voices of the dead and missing._

Another week passed and then finally Ignis Scientia awoke, alone. He showered, dressed, and left his residence as if there was nothing unusual. He walked through Lestallum, and knocked on a door.

It opened, the air shifting as the scent from inside wafted out. Ignis waited for his usual greeting, but it did not come, the door closing instead. He was alone at the door; the inhabitant having failed to step outside.

Ah. Well. Indeed. He turned away, moved back to the streets and made his way back to his residence, and never noticed he was followed. He climbed the stairs and dropped himself back on the bed. It had taken a surprising amount of effort to walk there and come back, and he'd just rest for a few, then decide what he would do.

 

Awareness came with two thoughts. One, he was thirsty. Two, there was someone else nearby, breathing softly. He thought he knew that breath, and when Ignis spoke, his voice was faint and soft from disuse. “Stasios?” He'd thought the other wanted nothing to do with him, thought the anger and silence of passed time now stood as a wall between them. And now, to feel the man behind him, to hear his heartbeat and breath, it made Ignis very aware that _he'd lost count of his own._

There was a sound, fabric and motion, a soft exhalation of breath, and then a gentle caress of fingers at his cheek. No words were offered, and for that, Ignis found he was grateful. Instead, the bed creaked, then moved as Stasios slid closer to Ignis, reaching around to rest his hand against Ignis’ heart, holding it, guarding it. "Forgive me. I did not see your pain."

Once Stasios rested his hand on Ignis’ chest, he felt it. And while it might not beat for Stasios, and Ignis might have come close to losing it, his heart still beat on. Overwhelmed, Ignis stirred, shifting to roll over and bury himself against Stasios’ chest, at last allowing himself to weep for his lost King.


End file.
